


all her wounds in front

by StarryCleric



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Fight Club - Freeform, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Violence, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Yasha-centric (Critical Role), could be seen as pre beauyasha, yasha needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24691036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryCleric/pseuds/StarryCleric
Summary: The Mighty Nein rescued Yasha from Obann. She's back with them, she's safe at home, and no one is ever going to control her mind again. She should be relieved. Not churning with rage and guilt.Punching her way through her problems is so much easier than talking about them.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett & Yasha
Comments: 13
Kudos: 85





	all her wounds in front

**Author's Note:**

> this is basically a fight club AU tbh

It has been six days since the Mighty Nein stormed the cathedral and pulled Yasha out of Obann’s clutches. Four since she put her fist in a woman’s face and told her to finish the fight like the champion she is. Two days since her friends took her back to their home in Xhorhas, for a chance to recuperate before the fate of the war is decided on their boat stolen from pirates. 

Yasha traces the crisp white edges of a bandage wrapped around her left shoulder. Jester and Caduceus had been quick to heal everyone’s most life threatening injuries after Obann but the less desperate cuts and bruises were left to sort themselves out. If she were to pull this stark white cloth away, the gouches might start to bleed again. For one fierce moment, she wants to do it. Pull back the coverings, show the way clawed fingers had scrabbled at her while she drove her sword at him, over and over and… 

“Are you looking to buy, or just admiring the view?” the shopkeeper she’s been staring past asks. She’s an older drow woman, wearing a grey shawl and soft black robes. She sounds annoyed.

“What?” Yasha looks down at the small white daisy she’d picked up at some point.

The shopkeeper gestures to the baskets of white and blue flowers covering her outdoor stand. Snapdragons and lilies poke out from behind the smaller mounds of feverfew daisies and snowdrops in a display that is both wild and beautiful. 

“You’ve been staring at my arrangements and didn’t answer until I snapped.” The woman does actually snap her fingers in front of Yasha’s nose, and although her tone is sharp, there is a hint of unease in it. 

Yasha narrows her eyes at the woman. Her hair is as white as the bandages Jester gave her this morning, and if Yasha looks close enough, she can see the edges of a rough scar tracing behind her hair and towards the base of her neck. Thin blue fingerless gloves can’t cover the criss-crossed markings of fists that have spent more time with a punching bag than a garden. 

Yasha has never been a people person, but these are scars that she knows. The flower drops to the dust in the street.

“Where can I go if I’m looking for a fight?”

…

Her name is Reldreza, but tells Yasha to call her Rel if she must. Yasha isn’t to speak to anyone about this and to avoid giving out Rel’s name. She doesn’t know exactly what Rel sees in her own mismatched eyes that prods her to help, but only half an hour later Rel is pushing her inside a seedy looking tavern named The Hungry Trout. Rel tells her to order two servings of boar meat from the counter and fire peppers “hot enough to scorch a tiefling’s tongue.”

The bartender hesitates a moment, but when Rel crosses her arms and gives him a stern look, he tells them the peppers are all out of stock and if they’d care to follow him to the store room, maybe they could choose a replacement. The storeroom contains boxes of dried food, casks of wine and ale, and a ladder to a basement that is hidden beneath a trap door and a pile of yellow straw.. Yasha hands the man two silver pieces before he walks away, which he takes without a word. Rel tells Yasha to go down the ladder first, so she does. The bartender swings the trap door shut behind them. 

The basement is musty and stinks of sweat and a hint of copper. Without windows to light the way, the whole area has to be lit up by torches in sconces bolted every few feet. In the center of the room, a group of fifteen or so people have formed a circle around two drow who seem to be doing their best to beat the life out of each other. 

Yasha and Rel hover by the edge of the circle as the crowd jeers and shifts to get out of the way of the two fighting and rolling on the floor. Yasha can already tell that this “ring” is different from the other one she’d visited with the Mighty Nein. This fight isn’t exactly for entertainment or pleasure, despite the fact that she can see some coins changing hands as one drow finally pins the other and leaves him spitting blood on the sawdust floor. This fight is just for the people in the center, to swing and kick and punch the other until they win or they lose. 

Yasha doesn’t say anything out loud as the winner staggers out of the ring and an older dwarf with a recently blackened eye helps hoist the other one up and out of the clearing, but Rel must feel the way a shiver runs through her arms. 

As someone kicks new sawdust into the area and some chatter starts up in the group, Rel leans in closer to Yasha’s ear. “The rules are pretty simple; what you see is what you get. No weapons, no armor, and if the other guy taps out or blacks out, you gotta let him go. Otherwise it’s pretty much no holds barred, but there’s no healing or medicine provided, so keep that in mind.” She points to Yasha’s sword. “Hope you weren’t planning on using that.”

“Actually, I wasn’t.” Yasha unloops the belt holding the sword to her waist and pushes it into Rel’s arms. It’s well over half her height, but Rel doesn’t stagger under its weight, so she swings off her feathered cloak and drapes it over her as well. “Could you hold onto that for me please?”

Before Rel can answer, Yasha steps into the center of the circle. 

The cluster of people goes quiet as they take in the newcomer, and then murmurs of heated discussion start up around her. No one’s eyes ever seem to leave her as they all take her in and start evaluating her. 

Now that Yasha is in the center, it’s easier to see the diverse group that’s made its way into the Hungry Trout basement. Half of the people are drow of various heights and weights. The rest of the crowd is made up of dwarves, goblins, and what looks to be two goliaths hanging towards the back. Yasha wouldn’t be surprised if there was some mixed giant blood in some of these people. She doesn’t address the crowd, but she does make a show of stretching her arms and warming up her bandaged shoulder. 

Finally, a drow man with long white hair tied back in a fishtail braid wearing a sleeveless purple tunic steps into the ring. He’s a few inches shorter than Yasha, but the way he flexes his scarred biceps and proudly displays the smirk tugging at his lips speaks to his confidence in his own experience. 

“I assume someone’s explained the rules to you?” he asks. His voice is lighter than Yasha expected.

“They explained enough.” Yasha eases back on her heels and keeps her arms loose. “Last one standing wins?”

The drow man smiles wider.

From the crowd, Rel announces, “I’ve got one gold on the tall one.”

Chattering breaks out again. Yasha learns that her opponent’s name is Vistos, and he seems to be a regular here. Based on the bets she hears placed, her greater size isn’t enough to sway many people onto her side. It doesn’t matter much to her. She isn’t here for money.

When it seems like all the bets have been accounted for, a goblin with slick black hair steps in between them. “Remember, the only rule is don’t make us carry a body out of here. On your mark… go!” she squeaks, and dashes out of the ring.

Before Yasha can blink, Vistos springs forward and drives a fist into her gut. His speed catches her by surprise and all the air is driven out of her lungs. Her instinctive haymaker goes wild, and the instant her fist swings by his head, Vistos ducks and swipes at her legs. Yasha tumbles off balance and lands hard on her back. Her head cracks against the ground, making sparks fly in her vision.

Vistos laughs where he’s standing over her. “Well, that didn’t take –”

Yasha lashes out with a powerful kick that drives directly into his right knee. Vistos shouts in pain as his leg snaps backwards and gives way, sending him sprawling to the ground as well. Before he has a chance to get up, Yasha pushes herself to one knee and lunges for him again. 

The crowd has to hurry out of the way as they roll together on the ground. Vistos is underneath her, so Yasha has a chance to land a few punches to his nose. There’s definitely a sound of something cracking beneath her knuckles and a spurt of blood that makes Vistos howl before he knees her in the ribs and shoves her off. 

Yasha tumbles away, but grimaces and clutches at her side, which she can already tell is going to be black and blue tomorrow morning. There’s a feeling boiling in her gut, telling her to give into the cold embrace of rage and to break every bone in this man’s body, but the voice is too close to Obann’s, so instead she just shivers. 

Vistos twists on the ground and pushes himself to his feet a little bit faster than Yasha. She tries to catch his foot as he kicks out at her, but his boot is aimed for her injured shoulder and she shouts as it connects with the still healing flesh and she is forced onto her back. 

Vistos springs forward at the opening she’s given him, and their position from seconds ago is suddenly reversed. He aims his fist for Yasha’s nose, but she swipes his arm away and with a burst of energy bashes her head against his. His broken nose must be beyond painful, but that doesn’t stop him from elbowing her in the chest and repeatedly hitting her in the face.

The roiling rage in her gut calms down, and the lightning that crackles within her stops. Yasha spits a glob of blood into Vistos’s eyes. 

_“Finish it, Champion.”_

Vistos wipes the blood out of his eyelashes, gives her another grin and a punch to the temple, and it’s lights out.

She must only be down for a few seconds, as she comes to with Rel’s hands wrapped around her shoulders, trying to drag her backwards out of the circle. Money is changing hands behind them. Yasha shakes her head to clear away the lingering darkness and pushes back against Rel.

“It’s okay, I can walk.” 

“Are you sure? That was a pretty nasty hit,” Rel says, but she backs off anyway as Yasha hauls herself to her feet. 

“Not the nastiest.” Yasha is dizzy, but she’ll live. Across the circle, Vistos smirks at her again, and she gives him a courteous nod. 

Back in the crowd of people, Rel gives her back her sword and drapes her cloak across her shoulders. It smudges against the blood dripping down her face and knuckles, but it feels nice to have on her back again. 

“That’s the first time I’ve seen someone break Vistos’s nose on the first try. He usually likes to break in newcomers,” Rel says as they shuffle to the back of the group. 

“Sorry I lost you a gold.”

Rel shrugs. “I figured you’d give the guy a run for his money. Seems like you’ve got some fight in you.”

Yasha smiles wryly at the phrasing. “I suppose you could say that.”

“Will I see you here again tomorrow night? Maybe you could give some of these other grimy bastards a run for their money.”

“...I will.”

…

The next week and a half passes by in a blur for Yasha. The moments in the day seem to slide by without much notice on her part, blending together and hard to distinguish many details. Obann had kept her on a tight leash in terms of what she could and could not do, and now that she has so much freedom by comparison, she hardly knows what to do with it. It feels like ages ago that she could pick what she wanted to eat for lunch, or what time she would wake up in the morning, or who she would spend her time with. The sudden freedom is almost paralyzing at times, and she often finds herself sitting on her own bed, staring at the fields of painted flowers on her wall for hours at a time with no thoughts in her head, before she can sneak away to the Hungry Trout each night to find herself again. 

The fights themselves get both easier and harder the more time she spends there. Yasha is a formidable fighter with her sword, but doesn’t spend as much time practicing her hand to hand. After her first loss to Vistos, she gets on a winning streak against a few more drow and one of the dwarves, before a goliath steps into the ring and beats her bloody with a few well placed strikes. Yasha walks away from that fight more content than when she won, and when she tries to think about why, it makes her head buzz and her hands shake, so she stops thinking about it. 

At night, she dreams about blue lightning over meadows of flowers, and white swan wings that don’t belong with grey basement walls and blood splattered sawdust floors. 

Hiding the blood in the bruises from the Mighty Nein before sneaking home each night is the hardest part. Yasha knows that what she’s doing might not be the healthiest of behaviors, but that doesn’t mean she wants to be interrupted as she works her way through… whatever it is she’s doing. It’s easy enough to use her own meager healing abilities to soften out the rough edges of the worst scrapes, but sometimes she misses a bruise or two, and has to field off prying questions from Jester or Caduceus the next morning about how she managed to get a black eye in her sleep. They don’t seem too convinced by her excuse that she tripped and hit her head on her bedpost, but fortunately they seem more interested in just sending her a quick Cure Wounds and keeping breakfast from burning on the stove.

She doesn’t notice Beau picking at her oatmeal and bacon without saying a word. 

That night, Yasha slips out of the house once everyone has headed off to bed. The doorbell jingles a little as she carefully pushes past it, but she doesn’t hear any movement in the house, so she seems to be in the clear. The roads to the Hungry Trout are as dark as ever, but everything seems more quiet and still as the city settles down for the evening. 

Tonight, she is the first person in the ring. Her muscles are still sore from last night’s fight, but the dash of healing from Jester this morning has healed up the worst of it, and she feels more fresh and prepared to battle it out than she has in days. 

Her challenger turns out to be a goblin named Kashi. Yasha looms above him before the fight starts, but he isn’t intimidated by her height as he instantly grapples up her and tries to sink his teeth into her shoulder. The wound has healed since her first time here, but it’s already gained a reputation in this circle as a weak spot for the others to aim for. 

Yasha grabs him by the scruff of his neck and hurls him off of her. He gets in a good slice across her collarbones before tumbling to the ground which stings but doesn’t incapacitate her. He punches quickly at her legs before she can really lay into him, but it’s not enough to stop her from driving a solid fist into his ribs and making him wheeze. 

Kashi looks like he’s in a little over his head. He’s scrappy and angry and also only three feet tall. He lunges at Yasha and manages to get a few surprisingly solid kicks into her side when Yasha’s forceful backhand sends him sprawling. 

He taps the ground quickly before Yasha can jump on him again. Scraped knuckles ooze on both of their fists, but Yasha knows not to hit a target that’s already down. The fight was over so quickly that the white hot rage that simmers in her chest is still there, still spoiling for a brawl.

“Anyone else?” Yasha asks, her quiet voice a little more forceful than normal.

“Yeah, I think I’d like to go.”

Yasha whirls around, color draining from her face.

Stepping forward from the crowd, wearing her Xhorhasian blues and blacks but missing the typical cobalt sash, is an angry looking Beau.

There’s a beat of silence.

“What are you doing here?” Yasha finally asks. There’s a fist clamped down around her heart, squeezing the breath out of her lungs as Beau steps into the ring, and she’s not exactly sure why.

“Did you forget that I’m literally trained to follow up on secret information, or what?” Beau asks. She looks around the dingy room, hands on her hips as she steps forward into the ring. Her boots scuff against the straw on the floor. “So this is where you’ve been disappearing off to every night. Gotta say, I’m not all that surprised.”

Yasha stares at her, and so does everyone else, seeming to sense that there’s a whole ocean of meaning behind Beau’s attempt at a casual tone. It’s so hard for Yasha to decipher what Beau’s furrowed brow and piercing stare are trying to convey to her.

“You said you wanted a fight, right?”

Yasha nods.

Beau sucks in a breath, and then nods back. There aren’t any calls for bets. The room has a layer of tension that’s usually missing from these fights.

“Fine then. Let’s fight.”

Before Yasha can raise her fists, Beau has slipped into a fighting stance and attacked her with a series of powerful jabs to her ribs. Startled, Yasha reels back from the blows and the next flurry of punches barely glances off her raised forearm. 

Beau twists back gracefully, ducking and weaving beneath the swings Yasha directs at her at a nearly inhuman speed. She ends up at her back, driving her solid fists into sensitive pressure points along her spine. Yasha stumbles, nearly crippled by the sparks flying along her nerves, but muscles through Beau’s attempt at stunning her.

When Beau flips over her bent back, Yasha is able to catch her wrist in a vice-like grip before she can settle on the ground again. She hurls her forward with as much strength as she can muster, but Beau moves through the air like a cat and doesn’t sprawl like her last opponent when she hits the dirt. She’s a little scuffed, but otherwise hardly touched. Yasha barrels towards her, dodging a flying kick in the process, and finally manages to land a blow directly in her midsection.

She hardly has time to celebrate when Beau launches herself at her again, using her own momentum to crawl up her back, wrap her legs around her neck, and slam Yasha into the ground. 

The crowd is getting excited now, gasping and talking enthusiastically as the two of them drive into the sawdust once again. Beau is leagues above everyone else here in terms of hand to hand combat, and it shows. 

The churning in Yasha’s chest is angry and wants to be set free. Beau’s bruising strength and expertly placed strikes make her rage boil and flash through her whole body.

“Come on, Yasha, just tap out,” Beau says through gritted teeth, struggling to keep Yasha pinned to the floor. 

Yasha forces her rage back under control and shoves against Beau as hard as she can. She wriggles out from Beau’s lock, but doesn’t have much of a chance to retaliate before Beau springs to her feet and directs a series of sharp jabs to her pressure points one more time. She does her best to take her out at the knees before she can finish, but this time Beau isn’t holding anything back, and Yasha’s muscles are stiff and screaming by the time she finishes her stunning pattern and she is left twitching in the dust.

Beau stands up and brushes off her pants. Both of them are sweaty and breathing heavily, but Beau gets herself back under control much more quickly.

“Are you finished?” she asks, reaching out to brush a hand against Yasha’s shoulder. She doesn’t know it, but it’s the injured one everyone has attacked before.

The howling rage that always threatens to overwhelm her is quieting in Yasha’s heart. One part of her still wants to thrash and scream and get someone else from the crowd to step into the ring to fight for hours, but there’s something about the way Beau’s brilliant blue eyes glitter above her that makes it settle for now. 

Yasha nods her head as the stun finally wears off. She slumps a bit on the ground, and Beau helps her stumble to her feet.

The crowd parts a bit to let them pass by. Before they’ve even reached the ladder back up to the main floor of the Hungry Trout, another two people have started brawling behind them, with the ground eagerly prodding them on. 

Beau doesn’t say anything up the ladder and out of the storeroom, which thankfully gives Yasha a moment to let her head settle down. Instead of directing her out the back door, however, Beau leads them back into the main room and orders two pints of ale for them both. Drinks in hand, they settle down at one of the dimly lit wooden tables.

“I don’t know –”

“So we should probably –”

They both pause.

“You go first,” Yasha says. There’s a trickle of blood from the bite on her collarbone. She wipes it away.

Beau exhales sharply. “Okay. So. You’ve probably figured it out by now that I’ve been following you for the past few days.”

“Yes.”

“And you probably also know that I’m going to ask you why you’ve been doing it.”

Yasha lowers her head and stares into her cup. Beau looks like she really wants to say something, but gives her a few moments to gather herself. 

“I think… I think I’m looking for something there. Ever since… well. Ever since I came back.” She doesn’t make eye contact with Beau, looking resolutely at the ground, and tries to ignore the impeding buzz of energy that wants her to be angry and break tables and drive her fist into a wall or a face. 

“What are you looking for, Yasha?”

“I don’t think I know.”

A calloused brown hand wraps around Yasha’s bloodied knuckles. For a second, Yasha is seized by the thought that Beau shouldn’t get her blood on her hands, and she heals herself over a touch with a soft shiver of white light. 

Beau sighs. “I don’t wanna seem like I’m overstepping boundaries here, Yasha, but here’s the fact of the matter: you’re my friend. And I think this whole fight club thing you’ve got going on here is hurting you.” She cranes her head so Yasha is forced to look in her eyes. They’re strangely wet as they make eye contact. “And I don’t like it when my friends are hurting.”

“But it helps me. It’s just so hard to explain sometimes, but there’s just something that I need to do that I only get when I can fight something,” Yasha says. Her chest feels tight, but for a different reason than before.

Beau sucks in a breath. “Maybe there’s another way to go about this so you’re not beating yourself bloody every night. What if next time you feel the need to beat the shit out of somebody, or let somebody beat the shit out of you, you and I take an hour to go at it in the back yard instead of in some guy’s dusty old basement?”

Yasha frowns. “But what if it feels like that all the time?”

“Then you’ll come tell me first thing in the morning and we’ll help you work out some of that energy before it gets pent up during the day.” Beau hesitates before speaking again. “And maybe, if you want to, we can talk a little bit more about how you’re feeling. I’ve been told that’s something that helps.”

The offer of help touches something inside Yasha that she hadn’t realized had been dying until now. She curls her shoulders forward and does her best to ignore the pressure building in her eyes.

“I don’t think I’m ready now. But if you’re still offering in the future… I think I’d like that.”

“Of course I’ll be offering in the future, Yasha! The offer stays on the table for whatever you need. Just… promise me that if you want to punch a guy in the face, you come to me first, and not back here without telling anyone.”

Yasha takes a moment to let the thought roll through her mind. Her chest still hurts, her shoulder aches, and the rage that never quite goes away still rumbles inside her, but for now, she squeezes Beau’s hands and nods. Beau smiles softly, squeezes her hands back, and doesn’t let go.


End file.
